Bind
by The Owl's Pen
Summary: It was unfortunate that the very day after Edmund was declared to be out of danger from a long illness was also the day a Calormene envoy was to arrive in Narnia. Peter/Edmund BrotherFic


**Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis owns the Chronicles of Narnia, not I!**

**Rated: T**

**All other Author's Notes at the end of the story. Enjoy!**

*******

**Bind**

"Sure you're up to this?"

Edmund cast a sidelong glance at his brother. A grimace touched his lips and he spoke in a hoarse voice. "Peter, I'm not up to negotiating with Calormenes on a _good _day."

Peter frowned. It was unfortunate that the very day after Edmund was finally declared to be out of danger from a long illness was also the day a long-awaited Calormene envoy was to arrive in Narnia to discuss trade. But sick or no, he was still the best diplomat Narnia had. He had been anticipating this meeting for months, and Peter didn't think he could have kept Edmund in bed if he tried. "I'm sorry we couldn't put this off, Ed, but-"

Edmund waved dismissively and stood up from his chair. "We need the Calormenes' good will, Peter. They're a bigger and more established country than we."

"Well, just don't push it, okay? We can always call a recess if you need a break."

"Susan will call one if I so much as sniffle," Edmund snorted. His voice was still rasping, but there was a saucy gleam in his eye.

The High King chuckled, draped an arm across Edmund's cloaked shoulders, and leaned on the desk of his study. "Good. _One _of us needs to make sure you behave yourself, and it may as well be a lady. I don't think Calormenes look upon coddling men folk too highly. I can't imagine what they'd say if I interrupted negotiations to send you back to bed."

Edmund gave a laugh that caught short in his chest and came out as a cough. "Not that you'd let that stop you," he managed to pant.

Peter hugged his arm around Ed a little more tightly. When Edmund sank into his arm for a moment, instead of pushing him away with some sly comment about being babied at the age of seventeen, he felt his worry grow. It had been a long, anxious month for Peter, Susan, and Lucy, as they watched their Just King flicker between ill and _very _ill. It hadn't started out so bad. Just a cold, really. Susan had taken sick at the same time and spent a week in bed. Despite being the more violently ill of the two, she recovered quickly. But Edmund, always too thin for his height and over-tired from a series of battles in the frigid Wild Lands of the North, had succumbed to a more prolonged illness. Lucy had tried her cordial on Edmund, but it seemed that there were some things the juice of the Fire Flower did not act upon immediately. Edmund recovered, but it was a long, slow march. He had only just gotten out of bed two days ago. So Peter felt he had good reason to be anxious that his brother not tire himself.

Edmund braced himself against Peter's arm, taking a few long breaths to reassure himself and his brother. Then he turned his face up and gave a little grin. Peter felt his heart thump happily against his dark blue tunic. Yes, his brother's face was much too pale, and his brown eyes still looked a bit glassy. But that cheeky grin told him that Ed's mind was clear, hungry for a few hours of being up and about and well. The study door opened.

"Edmund!"

Susan had entered with Lucy close on her heels. At the sight of her recently-ill brother leaning heavily against the High King, her face puckered with concern, and she ran to them. Susan, who never ran indoors. She immediately took Ed's face in her hands and studied him. "Edmund, are you all right? Perhaps you shouldn't be up after all…"

Edmund managed a scowl "What?" he demanded, wrapping his arm firmly around Peter's waist. "Can't a fellow hug his brother?"

Pete had to chuckle. If Ed was feeling well enough to engage in a battle of wits with Susan, he'd be all right against the Calormene for a few hours.

Susan obviously didn't see it that way as she cradled her younger brother's chin in her fingers. Freckles that were normally too small or too fine to be visible prickled through the paleness of Edmund's face. "You've just been ill for so long…"

"And in bed for all of it, Su. I've been a good little King, and you three have fussed over me to your heart's content the whole time. I'm just like new."

"I doubt that."

Lucy, who sympathized with their brother's views on being ill, spoke up. "You look better than you did at breakfast, Edmund. There's a little color in your face."

Queen Susan frowned. "There's _never _color in Ed's face, Lu."

"Well, he doesn't look quite like a marble statue, then."

"He certainly doesn't. If anything, he's a brick," Peter declared. "You should have heard him a few minutes ago, talking about how eager he is to engage in pleasant conversation with the gracious Calormene."

"Please," Edmund muttered to him. "Don't rub it in." He straightened his shoulders. Peter allowed his arm to drop, knowing that Ed wanted to appear strong before his sisters. "Susan, I'll be _fine."_

"Oh Susan, let him be." Lucy reached up and deposited a kiss on Edmund's nose. "He _has _been very patient, even though it was so trying to be ill. What?" she added, giving a saucy smile in response to the face Edmund made. "Can't a girl kiss her brother?"

"Just not in front of the Calormene," Ed grumbled.

***

Peter resisted the urge to fidget as the meeting wore on. The Kings and Queens sat in the council room with their Centaur guard Delius and a lone Calormene soldier. It was the smallest delegation Peter had ever seen. War-loving Calormene was the _last _country he would have expected to send a single representative knocking at the castle door. Then again, the fellow was well-armed. Each and every Calormene soldier had more than likely been ingrained with the belief that he could take an entire castle by himself, provided the right opportunity. This dark, turban clad fellow was no exception. The moment he entered the room his eyes darted over every object, every door or window, a habit Peter recognized. The Calormene was sizing up the room, looking for a defensible location to retreat to if necessary. Peter couldn't say he blamed a soldier for doing just what he himself had been trained to do in enemy territory. But then the Calormene had sized up the sovereigns, and his eyes came to rest on Susan. He didn't gawk or simper. He merely watched her with quiet appraisal. Peter decided he did _not _like the way this man was looking at Susan, who was even lovelier when she was as stern and aloof as now. It was hard to suppress the primal instinct to toss the Calormene out the window.

Edmund ignored it all. The covert sizing up, the shining scimitar, the open attentions to his elder sister. He especially ignored his own discomfort, though Edmund grew pale and worn looking, and he alternately clutched at his cloak and shivered or tossed it aside and sweated. The Calormene apparently understood that his host had been ill, for he asked, in a surprisingly civil tone, if Edmund needed a respite. Edmund simply thanked the delegate for his concern and moved on to the next item of business.

Peter knew he would never have the diplomacy skills that Edmund did. The Just King never lost his nerve or his temper in such situations. Peter frequently lost both. He had asked Edmund once, how he did it.

"It's not me," the younger brother had replied as they rode back home to Narnia one day after settling a long, tangled trade agreement with Archenland. "Believe me, I haven't the patience for this kind of thing. Not by nature any way." He had shifted about in the saddle and looked at Peter, brown eyes locked on blue. "But I think Aslan has given me… well, a desire to make peace. I rather like making it with a blade." He grinned. "But when I walk into a diplomatic situation, I always tell myself one thing: _Check your sword at the door."_

And he did. Not literally, of course. Peter was reassured by the sight of Edmund's sword girded to his side, as well as the familiar weight of Rhindon at his own hip. But the sparring tongue that Edmund had employed with his siblings in the hall just an hour earlier had indeed been put to rest. Instead, Edmund spoke with calm, deliberate conviction. He listened interestedly and courteously to all the Calormene had to say, even when some of the man's more pointed remarks about Narnia's military insignificance riled Peter's pride. Edmund listened to the claim that if Narnia allied with Calormene, _then _maybe it would amount to something, and he never changed expression. Instead he thanked the envoy for his insight into Narnia's strategic well-being. From this they came to the meat of the discussion: trade agreements. Things were going nicely until the Calormene came to one item that no Narnian would _ever _agree to.

"It is the demand of the Tisroc, may he live forever," he read from his scroll, "That whosoever parleys in his court and his temples bow to the image of Tash, the Inexorable, the-"

"No," Edmund cut in.

The Calormene lowered the parchment and stared at Ed. "Sire?"

"I bow to no idol, nor shall any other Narnian lower his head to any abomination such as that in the Tisroc's courts and temples," King Edmund the Just said firmly. "We bow only to Aslan."

"_Sir," _the Calormene hissed. "You insult my lord."

"And you insult mine, if you think I'll agree to such an atrocity against him," Edmund retorted.

"Then let insult pay insult," snapped the Calormene. He drew his scimitar.

Delius's hand flew to his sword hilt. Peter opened his mouth to say that the Calormene had far less honor than he had thought possible, if he was going to challenge a sick man to a duel. But then a soft _zing _cut through the air, and Ed was on his feet, white as a Unicorn but with a drawn sword.

"_Edmund!" _Peter exclaimed. "You daren't!"

"Of course I dare," Edmund replied solemnly, never taking his eyes off of the glowering Calormene. "You'd do the same."

"Edmund you're _ill!" _Lucy gasped.

"Sir!" Susan stepped forward and grasped the Calormene's arm. "Please, I beg of you!"

He shook her off, obviously deciding the Queen's beauty wasn't enough of an incentive to give up the fight. "This does not concern you, my lady."

She gave his arm a sharp whack with her fist, blue eyes snapping. "Of _course_ it does! He's my brother!"

"_Was _your brother!" the Calormene retorted, stepping forward in a defensive posture. "Or shall have been when I am done with him!"

Peter and the girls gasped but Ed was calm. "To the death, then?"

"So be it."

"Edmund _sit down!" _Peter yelled. "You _are not _to duel this man!"

Edmund merely threw him a casual glance.

Peter grabbed for the phrase he hoped would catch Edmund's attention. _"Check your sword at the door!"_

"Thank you," Ed replied, beginning to circle the Calormene with slightly unsteady steps. "But forgive me, I believe my covenant with Aslan is enough to excuse me from obeying you this once."

Enough was enough. Peter drew his own sword and stepped in between them.

"Get out of it, Peter!" his brother growled.

"My injury demands satisfaction," the Calormene goaded the High King, black eyes sparking. "Surely you understand the concept, unless you are entirely without honor!"

"_You dare!" _Edmund cried.

"Edmund, shut up!"Peter pointed his sword at the Calormene. "You, sir, shall have the satisfaction you deserve: death. I accept your dishonorable conduct toward my brother as an affront to myself, and in turn demand you duel _me."_

"_Peter!"_

"_Ed!"_

The Calormene smiled and bowed. "As you wish, Sire. One dead Narnian king is as good as another."

"Not while _I _can stand, you don't!" Edmund retorted.

"Fine." Peter nodded at Lucy and Susan, pointing his sword at their brother. "Sit on him."

"Wha-!"

_Whump! _

Peter applauded himself for having sisters who caught on so quickly. Ed was pinned on the ground underneath Susan and Lucy before he could do much more than open his mouth. Normally that wouldn't deter him, but in light of his recent illness, their combined weight was too much for him, and his sword was knocked out of reach.

"Not that we like the idea of Peter dueling either," Lucy panted as she managed to wrap herself around his ankles, "But you're in no condition to do so yourself, Edmund!"

"_Get off me!"_

"Sorry dear," Susan said from where she sat against his chest, actually sounding the least bit penitent. "But I think it best we all obey the High King this time."

"I said _get off!"_

Peter sighed. "Edmund, for the last time: _shut up."_

The Calormene was regarding them all with a curious stare. No doubt he thought he'd have an amusing tale to relate to his Tisroc about these strange, feisty Narnian sovereigns.

With any luck, he wouldn't live that long.

Peter nodded to Delius. The Centaur stepped back, eyes solemn. Peter saluted the Calormene.

The man ignored the formality, choosing instead to slash at the King's feet.

Peter jumped high, skipping backwards to get a little distance once his feet hit the ground, the sound of his steps like pattering rain.

The Calormene withdrew immediately and waited for the High King's advance, the pommel of his scimitar tight against his belt, the point tipped up.

Peter stepped forward with his Rhindon in a similar position, eyes on his opponent, seeking an opening.

The Calormene slashed a middle cut to the left.

Peter blocked him, swinging his sword above and behind his head, then chasing his opponent's attack with one of his own.

The soldier blocked him. He growled, apparently realizing that this Narnian High King might be more of a match than he had anticipated. They parted.

A respite. They circled one another.

Peter allowed his eyes to drift over to his siblings. Lucy and Susan were still sitting on Ed, who was growing paler by the moment. Peter shook his head.

The Calormene cut low.

Peter tried to block him and found his sword being forced up and around.

The Calormene broke and slashed again from the other direction.

Up and around in the opposite direction.

Peter began to sweat.

Up and around.

This time he anticipated the attack. Peter allowed his blade to lock with the Calormene's, then weakened his guard and slid out of the bind. He followed it up with his strongest attack.

An over cut.

The Calormene never saw it coming.

Peter hated this part. No matter how often he had to do it, he still hated it.

But it was over in a moment, and then Peter turned his back on the slain Calormene so that he might clean his sword.

The girls had hidden their faces against Edmund, clutching at his dark grey tunic. The younger king stared at the envoy, then slowly let his gaze shift to Peter.

"You look awful, Ed," Pete said bluntly. "Rather like one of those marble statues Lu was speaking of earlier." He jerked his head at Delius, who regarded his victorious King with a grave smile. "Don't let anyone in. I'll… have to write the Tisroc, I'm afraid." He grimaced and sheathed Rhindon.

Susan and Lucy had gotten to their feet by now and were trying to help Edmund up. But their brother quivered so that neither could keep a steady hold on him. "Oh Edmund," Susan murmured as she hung onto his arm. "You're burning up with fever again."

"Of course he is," Peter snorted. He scooped Edmund straight up in his arms. "To bed you go, sir," he growled.

"Pete, put me down! I_ can_ walk to my room…"

"Rot." Peter strode through the council room door holding Edmund, Susan and Lucy close behind them.

"You're scaring the courtiers," Edmund objected, craning his neck to look at the Fauns and Centaurs who hastened to get out of their Majesties' way.

"The only one who should be scared is _you!" _Peter snapped at him. "One way or another you could have gotten yourself killed. To bed with you!"

"And you're not getting _out _of bed for another twenty-four hours," Lucy interjected, keeping a hand tight on Edmund's sleeve as they paced rapidly through the great hall. "You're to do nothing but _sleep, _Edmund Pevensie, and if you dare to even _dream _of duels…"

Edmund struggled to get out of his brother's grip, then gave it up. "One doesn't always have a choice what one dreams, Lu."

"You shan't dream at all, if I have anything to say about it," Susan put in as they hurried up the stairs. A Dryad scurried away.

"You haven't."

"Well, then I'll tell you what you _shall _do. You _shall _eat every drop of soup and every single crumb of bread you are given. And you _shall _keep your mind on pleasant things, not despicable Calormene envoys!"

They had reached the door of Edmund's chambers. Ed shoved at his brother's chest. "Alright, we're here! Put me _down, _for the Lion's sake!"

Peter ignored him. "Go," he commanded the girls. "I shall take care of His Royal Stubbornness."

"Peter," Lucy hesitated. She kissed Edmund's cheek. "Don't be too hard on him…"

Peter snorted and shut the door. Despite the fact that his brother was ill and trembling, he had the remarkable urge to give him a sound thrashing. Instead he dumped him gracelessly on the bed.

"What is the _matter _with you?" he hissed.

"Pete, you heard what he said, what he wanted!"

"It doesn't matter," the High King snapped, riffling through drawers for a clean nightshirt.

"_Peter!" _Edmund sat up. "By the Lion, what do you mean 'it doesn't matter?' Of course it matters! He cast a slur against _Aslan!"_

Pete threw the shirt at his brother. "Get changed. Get some sleep. And above all, quit being an idiot!"

Edmund rolled his eyes as he reached to remove his crown with quivering fingers. "I don't see that what I did, or rather, _was going to do, _was so idiotic."

Peter knelt and began rapidly unlacing Ed's boots, fury making his fingers deft and his voice sharp. "You would be such a fool that you would agree to a duel when ill? Further more, you would agree to a duel _to the death?" _He yanked the boots free and stood.

"When I'm ill I feel as if I'm going to die anyway," Edmund quipped.

"Don't joke about this!"

Edmund sighed and flopped back on the bed, closing his eyes. His face was beaded with sweat. "I'm sorry Pete. But yes. When it comes to the honor of Aslan, I would fight to the death no matter how sick I was. It's what I would do for anyone whom I feel I owe my life to." He looked up at his brother pointedly. "So I'd do the same for _your _honor, or Susan's or Lucy's."

Peter stared at him.

_Oh._

A slow smile spread over Edmund's face, and he reached his arms out for an embrace. Peter gave in. He hugged his brother tightly, grateful even for the sweat and fever that at least proved that Edmund was alive, not cold and dead by the Calormene's sword.

"And if I didn't say it already," Edmund murmured into his hair, "Thank you. For looking out for me. Fighting the Calormene. Defending Aslan's honor. And mine."

"And making the girls sit on you?" Peter suggested.

Edmund pushed his brother away to arm's length and glared at him. _"No."_

*******

**Hello again! Thanks to KCS, whose response to a little snippet of backstory in my first Narnia Fic "By Another Name" inspired me to develop _this _story! It was fun to write! **

**The title, "Bind" is meant to refer not only to the action of two swords being locked in combat, but also the binding relationship that Peter and Edmund have with one another.**

**Now for disclaimer #2: I know literally _nothing _about swordplay except what I could find on the internet! I used the choreography from various fights in the Narnia movieverse to determine the action of my story, and used what terminology I thought appropriate. So if there are any afficianados out there, I humbly beg your forgiveness for my clumsiness and ask you to tell me how I could have written Peter's fight better.**

**...Because once I know how to write a _really _good fight, I want to write one for Edmund *grins* I do play favorites with my Kings, oh yes indeedy!**

**Thanks for reading. Please review and critique!**


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